


Until a New Dawn

by Lumelle



Series: Contractual Obligations [6]
Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Lord of the Rings (Movies)
Genre: Happy Ending, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-08
Updated: 2014-02-08
Packaged: 2018-01-11 14:53:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,335
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1174402
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lumelle/pseuds/Lumelle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gimli is growing old, and Legolas has never been so afraid of the passage of time. However, for all that he has thought of every eventuality, it seems he has underestimated the determination of his beloved to follow him anywhere, even to the West -- or the cunning of a dwarf and a hobbit with a shared goal.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Until a New Dawn

**Author's Note:**

> As promised, here is the other side of the contract Bilbo made in the previous fic.
> 
> If you wish to see Gimli and Legolas as they arrive to the West, I [drew them](http://kuismai.deviantart.com/art/To-the-West-423378976) as a Christmas present for a friend.

Gimli was growing old.

This was not a conclusion Legolas reached gladly, but it was not one he could avoid any longer. He might have been able to ignore the occasional new line on his face, discounting it as nothing but weariness from the road or signs of the laughter they shared, so often wrinkling the corners of those deep, wise eyes. It was also all too easy to simply stop comparing Gimli with those around them, the dear friends who were all growing weary and fragile in what seemed like the blink of an eye. Gimli stood by his side, after all, and would be ever unchanging, surely he would, nothing could ever bring any effect to them.

It caught him completely unawares one day, the realization that for all that he had always known his beloved was mortal, it was no more something he could ignore. He had been braiding Gimli's hair, a soothing routine they both enjoyed, the feel of soft strands beneath his fingers giving him silent assurance that Gimli was there, right within his reach. And then, as he parted another row of hair to add a lock to his weave, he found a strand of pure white instead of the deep red he had so grown to love.

"Gimli?" he said, proud of himself that his voice stayed steady. "There is white in your hair."

To his surprise, Gimli merely chuckled. "Aye, and it is about time," he said. "By this age my uncle was almost completely gray. My father has been slower to it, but it is hardly a surprise that I would take to it already."

Legolas chuckled with him, finished the braids, then excused himself from the campfire under the pretense of gathering more firewood. Thus Gimli was not there to witness as his hands clenched, nails digging into his palms with the force it took to keep himself from crying out.

He was losing Gimli. He was losing his beautiful, beloved dwarf, and there was not a thing he could do about it.

It would not happen yet, no, not a swift and unexpected pain as though his heart had fallen in battle, not even the lingering pain of a festering wound that no number of healers could overcome. Rather, it would stretch out over days and years, a slow yet steady progress of white among the deep burgundy, of wrinkles and aches and a weakening hand. Gimli would slip out of his hands little by little, and no amount of love could hold onto him, not even as he wept for his heart even now, long before any such thing would come to pass.

Never before had he so feared the passage of time.

Elves had little care for years, having no need to keep count of them, for there would always be another. Barring war or sorrow, they could expect to live however long they pleased, until such time as they heard the call of the sea. It was how Legolas had been raised, certainly, paying no mind to the wasting days and months and years, secure in the knowledge nothing would ever hasten them.

Now each moment was like a precious gem, a grain of sand in an hourglass that he could not turn around for all the wishes in his heart. Somewhere in the heavens his moments with Gimli had already been counted, there was a count somewhere that he could not alter, and each moment of that count that he spent away from his beloved was a moment wasted to nothingness.

He wondered how mortals could live, born under this same knowledge, ever aware that their time was limited and each day had to count for something. Perhaps that was why they were often so loud and full of life, the halflings with their songs and dances, the dwarves with their bellows and men with their pride. If they had ever known that their time was but limited, why would they not have taken care to make the most of it?

And here he was, sharing in the pain of Arwen's choice, even as he knew his sorrow would carry him on long after she had been saved into the painless embrace of the beyond.

His father's parting words upon his departure to the West had been to call him a fool, a harsh farewell from the last of his family as they parted for unknown years. Legolas had ignored him then, thinking it nothing but old grudges Thranduil had never been able to overcome, a distaste for dwarves for old ills with no consideration given to the brave and wise creature who had never harmed any of them. Now he recalled the frown upon his father's brow, the deep sorrow in his eyes, and wondered if not at least part of that mistrust had been a wish to shield him from the untimely break of his heart.

Parting from Gimli was not something he was willing to do of his own volition, however. He might have as well contemplated tearing out his own heart, and it would hardly have been any more possible.

Gimli had not asked any questions as he returned to the camp with no wood for the fire, had not said a word about the bloodied marks on his palms. His eyes had been wise as ever, knowing his pain even as Legolas himself could hardly comprehend it, a softness over a core of steel as he gently took Legolas's hands into his and drew him close.

Their touches were tender that night, Gimli's fingertips tracing along his skin as though appreciating the finest of treasures, Legolas working to memorize each inch, each smallest detail of his beloved. It was not the last time they would lie together, as he well knew, but as it passed there was one night less left to them, one morning missing from the count of those he would get to wake beside his beloved. He curled close to Gimli that night, despairing for his warmth, and Gimli held him close as though a lost child.

It seemed appropriate enough, for one who had just come to realize his home was crumbling away.

Gimli was still close as the night turned into dawn, a wonderful heat underneath the cover they shared, yet despite his almost burning touch Legolas found the morning greeting him with a shiver.

*

Aragorn was gone.

Legolas was not sure the enormity of that had sunk in yet, but he was sure it would strike whenever he was the least prepared for it. Aragorn was gone, lost to them forever, gone on where neither elf nor dwarf could follow.

The last of their friends, passed like so much dust in the wind, and yet here they stood, left behind by all who had once mattered.

They had new friends, of course, both those they had met on their travels and children and grandchildren of those who had once stood beside them, but somehow it seemed of little consequence in the face of their new loss. With Aragorn had passed the last person who had felt the rage of Saruman upon the mountain, had known the fear and sorrow of their passage through Moria, had stood beside them in the darkest of nights so they could all together fight for a new dawn. He had gone, and taken all but the last of the walls Legolas had built around his heart to resist the call of the sea.

It had been in his heart for a long time now, ever since it had first wormed its way there, but now it was growing stronger by each passing day. With each friend lost he had also lost another weapon to battle the call with, another reason to remain where his heart lingered even as his soul yearned for the light and peace of Valinor. Aragorn had been his last fortress, the last voice to drown out the cries of the gulls, the crashing of waves against the shore he could not return to once departed.

Now, all he had left was his heart.

Gimli was truly old now, even by dwarven standards; he had been grown for a dwarf when they stood to battle, and now there were precious few of his race who had seen the fall of Mordor. He seemed to draw some amusement from this, from the way he was now looked upon to recount the old battles and days of glory, surrounded by curious eyes whenever they drew near a dwarf settlement. Legolas certainly knew he took delight in entertaining the children, the ones who had not known war, who had grown big and strong in a time of peace with no fear of the Shadow ever more. But now those children had turned into adult dwarves, and had children of their own to bring to Gimli's knee, eager to hear of the war against the Shadow and all the other glories of the Third Age.

Gimli was one of the last dwarves who yet remembered time before the reclaiming of Erebor, Legolas had come to realize, and even he had been but a child at the time; Glóin's wee lad and not a mutated goblin, as the words burned his ears even centuries later. The rest of the Company had years since passed, joining their King in the rewards of his foolishness. They were in the Halls of the Ancestors now, Gimli told him, joining all the dwarves who had passed before them, there to await the end of the world. There was a tone of wistfulness to his words whenever he spoke such things, a hint of longing in his eyes in a wish to join his folk, and seeing it made Legolas ache as he well knew the granting of Gimli's wish would mean the shattering of his heart beyond all repair.

He could not find a hint of red even if he looked for it, now, Gimli's hair and beard alike taking on the shades of snow on a mountaintop, still full and thick as ever yet tearing at his heart whenever he wound braids into the fall of ivory around his beloved's shoulders. His movements had grown slow and measured, his wise eyes deep beneath likewise white brows, some of their sharpness lost to the wear of time. His bearing was as regal as ever, if not more so; even with his steps slowed by the burden of time the Lord of Glittering Caves stood as tall as his frame would allow him, two strong feet planted on the ground as though he would soon grow roots if he paused enough.

Legolas looked at him, as wise and strong and beautiful as ever yet oddly fragile in his years, and it took all his will not to break weeping.

"So." Gimli's words were slower, too, yet they rumbled just as deep from within his chest. "Aragorn has passed, then."

"That he has." Legolas hoped Gimli would forgive him for his lack of a smile, though it was not entirely for the fate of their friend. "The two of us are what remains of the fellowship, this side of the sea."

"Aye." Gimli gave a weighty nod. "I presume it's time for you to see to procuring a boat, then, is it not?"

Legolas's eyes snapped to him in an instant. "I would not!" he cried out, shock winning out over any sense of propriety. "What do you — how would you imagine I could do that?" Had he done something wrong? Had he in any way let Gimli believe he was anything less but Legolas's very heart? Surely there was no other way for the dwarf to think that he would — that he would — no, he could not even think such horrors.

Gimli, for his part, merely lifted a quizzical eyebrow, drawing a puff from the pipe Legolas had grown to love for all that the smell had been distasteful to him in the past. "And why would you not?" he asked, calm and steady. "I was under the impression it was his passing that you had made your mark. I know you elves have a tendency to put things off until the end of the world, but I'm a dwarf, and I'm not getting any younger here."

"With him passed one of my last reasons to remain, yes," Legolas replied, his voice quiet. "However, the greatest one yet remains."

"Ithilien, then?" Gimli frowned. "From what I hear many of the elves plan to leave, anyhow, and those who won't will find another to lead them. Surely they can spare you by now."

"That is not what I meant." Legolas knelt before him, bringing them eye to eye, and reached both of his hands to take the one of Gimli's that was not holding a pipe. "I would bury a thousand fellowships and see Ithilien ground to dust before I left you behind, my beloved. The call of the sea is strong in my heart, but my love for you is ever stronger."

"Aye, which is why I wish for you to hurry." There was a glint of something almost like amusement in Gimli's eyes, though he doubted his dwarf took entertainment from his anguish. "As I said, I'm not growing any younger, in fact the very opposite. You'll have to get started on a boat soon if you still wish to find me fit to travel."

"You… what?" Legolas blinked, not sure he was comprehending the words that passed Gimli's lips. "You would… travel with me?"

"Aye." Gimli nodded, a weighty gesture of a steady head. "Sure, the other shore is bound to be filled with elves, but then, I walked with you to the Paths of the Dead and faced down the full might of Mordor. I should think I can handle a few more pointy-ears even in my old age."

"But… you are a dwarf." As though Gimli would not be aware. "Beloved, I would love nothing as much as to have your company on the journey, for it is sure to be the longest and loneliest of paths I have ever undertaken in all my years. However, I would rather stay on Arda for the rest of my days than force you on a trip that long and arduous only to have us turned from the shore simply because my kin cannot see the light in your heart."

"Ah, but there will be no worry of that." Gimli took another puff of his pipe. "You see, I spoke with the Lady Galadriel ere she departed. She gave her blessing that, should I yet live at the passing of Aragorn, by her leave I would be welcomed on the Western shores if there were room on your boat for two."

"The Lady Galadriel said that?" He could hardly believe his ears, for all that he knew they were just as sharp and capable as they had ever been. "She… truly? You have her permission?"

"Aye. We made a contract of it, even; I'm sure I can find it yet if any should question us before we meet her again. Gandalf himself assured me that her word would be more than enough to bring me safely past any elf who thought to block my passage."

"You… ever since she left?" Legolas felt dizzy, and might have collapsed had he not already been on his knees. "Oh, Gimli, why did you not tell me? If I had known — if I had known, I would have a ship ready for us, to set sail as we will! But now I thought to sail would be to leave you behind, so I would not waste even a moment I had with you on the labor of the ship."

"I know, and I am sorry," Gimli said, the amusement dying in his eyes. "However, her words were with a stipulation, one I could not guarantee to fulfill. That is why I stayed silent until the passing of our friend, for I had no way of knowing if I would outlive Aragorn." His hand turned to squeeze one of Legolas's, strong yet gentle. "For any pain I caused you, I apologize from my heart," he murmured. "However, I did not wish to cause you the pain of constructing a boat for two when I could not yet give my word I would be there to share the journey with you."

"Right." Legolas swallowed. "I — I should get to work right away. The time is wasting, and even now I feel it slipping through my hands like so much sand."

"Peace, my elf, peace." Gimli squeezed his hand again. "I am not yet so old as to be utterly infirm. Tell me how I can assist, and we shall make our boat together."

"A ship," Legolas corrected him, and he was not entirely sure if what escaped him was a chuckle or a sob. "It is a ship we need, Gimli, not a boat."

"Details," Gimli huffed. "All I know is that I won't get on either one unless it is with you."

But Gimli would be with him, even on his long journey to find peace for his heart.

He did weep now, with sorrow and longing and relief all at once, and all Gimli did was set his pipe aside to draw Legolas into his strong arms.

*

The journey over the sea was long, more so than Legolas might have preferred.

He had constructed the ship to the best of his abilities, had stocked them well for the journey, had made sure Gimli would have every comfort he could offer him on the sea. Even so, there was a very real fear within his heart that it would be too hard a journey on the one who held his heart, that he would set sail together with Gimli yet reach the far shore alone.

Gimli knew and shared his fears, he was certain of it, read it in the shadows that sometimes crossed his beloved's eyes. Yet whenever the dwarf spoke of their destination, it was with anticipation and even excitement, with no thought to the possibility he might never reach that far. He was not quiet about the hardships of the journey, of course, if he had Legolas might have become even more fearful for his health, but his complaints about the occasional harsh wind or rocking waves were no more poignant than any occasional gripe he might have had on their many journeys over the years. The hints of a storm that rocked their ship appeared of no more concern to him than a pony he had not yet grown to be fond of, the lack of fresh food no worse than any road rations had ever been, cold nights on the sea no different from a harsh wind in the mountains.

It gave him hope, in a way, as all those other journeys they had finished together. If Gimli had born all that before, surely he could take the terrible hardship of sitting down and amusing Legolas with his songs?

He sang often, Gimli, with little else to do with his time, his still deep and strong voice flitting out into the wind in his most waking moments, when he was not enjoying a meal or a pipe or speaking with Legolas about one matter or another. Legolas joined him, sometimes, shared a song he had come to learn over their years or took over the turn when Gimli's voice grew weary in the sea air, filling the air when they had nothing to discuss. There were moments of silence, too, when the wind was good and the sea was calm and all they had to do was sit and enjoy the presence of one another.

It would have torn at his father's heart, Legolas thought with wry amusement, to know that his only son was on his way to the West and spent his time singing dwarven jaunts, letting large yet nimble hands weave dwarven braids into his fair hair, sharing in the pleasure of a dwarf when Gimli was feeling particularly strong and energetic. Yet he found he could not bring himself to mind one bit, could not regret a thing. He would be arriving on the shore with his heart intact, his best beloved right there beside him, and no amount of disapproval or borrowed grief would make him change a single one of his choices.

It was Legolas who first sighted the shore, to the surprise of neither. Much to his regret, Gimli's eyes had grown weaker with his age, and even at their strongest they had never been a match for Legolas in broad daylight. He took Legolas's word for his sighting, however, squinting at the horizon for the earth he would not see for another while yet, and grunted.

"About time we get there. I'm sure I'll be swaying on my feet when I get back to steady ground."

Legolas couldn't but laugh. "I am sure that will not be the case, my beloved." He reached a hand to brush against Gimli's hair, letting the pure white strands run through his fingers. "The wind is good, we will reach the shore before nightfall. Come, we should get ready to present ourselves."

"Aye," Gimli muttered. "It would not do for a prince of the elves to reach his kin with unkempt hair, now would it?"

"Indeed not." Legolas's lips twitched. "And I would not see the Lord of Glittering Caves facing the multitude of elves in anything but his finest attire."

They had laid aside one fine outfit each, quite different from their traveling gear, all in preparation for their arrival. Legolas helped Gimli clad himself in the finest fabrics the dwarves of Erebor had been able to sew for him, let the gentle fingers braid his hair before helping Gimli with his beard in turn, long practice speeding his fingers. They discarded simple traveling braids for more complicated patterns, with ornaments of pure gold and precious jewels; after all, to reach the shore was a matter of celebration, and it would not have done for them to face the Lady Galadriel and other such people in gear unsuited to the occasion.

It was easy to forget sometimes that Gimli bore royal blood in his veins, even as he had reigned over his own colony by leave of his kinsman, a practical soul and kind eyes more quick to draw Legolas's notice than his distant knowledge of dwarven bloodlines. Yet right now it was easy to remember that, with his heart standing before him enveloped in the finest silks and velvets, gold glittering at his brow and in his beard, his eyes short of sight but wise beyond measure.

"Are you ready, then?" Gimli asked, as even his eyes would finally make out the shore, with people already standing there in wait for their arrival. "Ready to explain it all?"

"Never more so, my heart," Legolas replied, and for once found it easy to smile. "I am merely afeared that they might question when exactly I found myself a dwarven king."

Gimli's laughter was a beautiful sound, full and rich as it drew out from his very core, and all Legolas could do was hope that he might yet have many a time of hearing its beauty before it was robbed from him.

*

Gimli was growing younger.

At first Legolas had ignored such thoughts, disregarding them as foolish nonsense. Sure, he seemed steadier and faster on his feet every day, but that was simply because they were on solid ground again, which was so much better suited for dwarven feet. Certainly, his eyes seemed sharper, but that was because he had so many new things to see instead of the endless expanse of the sea. His laughter rang higher, his songs were stronger, yet all that Legolas had discounted as being results of the journey having reached its end.

Then one day he was combing through Gimli's hair, working on yet another braid, when he unearthed a strand of deep red.

He stared at his new treasure for so long, Gimli finally shifted. "Something the matter, elf?"

"I… no." Legolas shook himself from his stupor. "Or, yes. I just… noticed something strange."

"Oh?" Gimli turned to glance at him over his shoulder. "And what would that be?"

"There is red in your hair."

Gimli's eyebrows lifted. "Well, that is hardly news, my heart. It was already red when I was a wee lad."

"Well, yes, but since then it has turned white," Legolas insisted. "I've gone through it often enough to know there wasn't a hint of red left, yet here I am, holding a strand of your old colors."

For a moment Gimli was quiet, perhaps in contemplation. Then he seemed to relax, a tension leaving his shoulders that Legolas had not even been aware had been carried there. "It seems my scheme was more successful than I dared to expect, then."

"Scheme?" Somehow, this sounded like more than a matter of dyes and colors. "What scheme would that be?"

"Why, my nefarious plan to stay with you forevermore, of course."

"What?" Legolas paused, then walked around Gimli, sinking to his knees before where his dwarf was seated. "What did you say?"

"You see, it's a simple enough matter," Gimli replied, trying for a nonchalant tone yet with something almost like fear lurking in the background, as though unsure how his words would be welcomed. "The air here is good enough it seems to have reversed some effects of my age. And yet, I am mortal, and it should only be able to slow down the rate at which I walk towards death, if not for the fact that I cannot do so."

"You cannot do what?"

"I cannot die."

The simple words drew a cold shiver down Legolas's spine. "How… how would that be?"

"You see, I signed a contract," Gimli said, and there was a grave tone to his voice such as Legolas had not heard from him in ages. "A contract after the dwarven manner, with the Lady Galadriel herself as a witness."

"Oh?" Legolas swallowed. "And what did that contract entail?"

"It was a simple matter of trade," Gimli replied. "I already told you I had her word for my safe passage to the West. The point being, it was not an idle gift, but rather a prize she bestowed upon me in exchange for my giving away something of my own." He drew a deep breath, though whether it was to prepare Legolas or himself, the elf was not sure. "I sold away my right to pass into the Halls of Ancestors."

"What?" Legolas froze. "That — is that even possible?"

"Neither she nor Gandalf saw any reason why it would not be, as they saw over the contract. Certainly they could not guarantee it, for the ways of the Valar are beyond even them sometimes, but that was what the contract was made to, and that is what I signed away."

"But why?" Why would Gimli have given away his most prized right? "That is — without that right, you have nowhere to go!"

"Aye, I know that." He nodded slowly as though weighed down by the enormity of his words. "However, even then I knew it did not matter, for I had no desire to pass where you could not follow me."

"Oh, Gimli." He brought a trembling hand to touch the side of his beloved's face. "You… you did that for me?"

"Always." There was warmth in Gimli's eyes like nothing Legolas had even dreamed of seeing directed towards him of all people. "I've told you before, I would follow you anywhere. And though even they could not guarantee the full success of my scheme, I knew I would rather sleep in loneliness than find myself surrounded by kith and kin for eternity yet not have you by my side."

"Beloved…" He gently tangled his hand in Gimli's beard, marveling at its softness much as he had when he had first been granted the leave to touch it. "I am not worth that."

"You are worth all that and and more." Gimli tilted his head to the side. "And besides, it was not only my happiness in balance."

"Right." Legolas swallowed. "…You said you gave away your right, not that it was merely taken from you. Does that mean… that another received passage in your stead?"

"Aye, that is my hope." Gimli nodded again. "You see, I am not the only one who would forsake his rightful place to follow his heart."

"Who is it?" And yet, even as he asked, there was a crawling feeling at the back of his mind, a hint that he knew, but he just would not see. "Tell me, Gimli. Who wished to purchase your right to the Halls?"

"Why, the only one of our reckoning who is not a dwarf, yet would find more comfort among them than he would leave behind." Gimli's eyes crinkled, just a bit, as though in the memory of the smile. "I can only hope that the old Master Baggins received his end of the bargain."

"Frodo?" And yet the word felt wrong even as it passed his lips. "No, not Frodo. But then… Bilbo?" His eyes widened. "Is it him?"

"Indeed." The warmth in Gimli's eyes mixed with sorrow, and Legolas found his heart aching at it. "It seems that for all the wounds his own adventures dealt him, the one that would not heal was within his heart. So, as we became aware of each other's circumstances, we came up with the trade. For all that we had no guarantees, if our plan was a success, I would get to remain with you… and he would reach his heart where it had passed out of his reach."

"He loved a dwarf." He did not bother to turn it into a question.

"Aye, he did. And not just any dwarf, either." And again the sorrow, though now Legolas suspected it was not for Gimli himself. "Thorin Oakenshield was never crowned a king, but it seems he ruled at least one hobbit's heart."

"I see." Legolas swallowed. "And was his love returned?"

The shadow fell over Gimli's eyes again. "I do not know," he said, his voice little more than a whisper. "And neither did Bilbo. Yet he had love enough to take that risk rather than see his hopes cast aside with certainty."

"No less than you did," Legolas whispered back. "For while I hope you were not fearful of receiving my love, you cast aside all your kin with no guarantee of being able to stay."

"It was a risk I was glad to take, and I am sure Bilbo felt the same." Gimli's lips finally curled into a ghost of a smile. "And as my hopes have been fulfilled beyond all expectation, I have good faith the Valar have smiled upon him as well."

"This is true." Legolas forced himself to smile as well. "After all, if we have been granted happiness beyond any you expected, surely he, too, has found what he needed."

"Aye, that would seem a wise approach." Gimli paused, and his hint of a smile turned into a full grin. "And now, my elf, I do believe we are faced with the fearful task of informing your father that he is stuck with a dwarf for a son-in-law for what seems to be all eternity."

Gimli's words startled a laugh from Legolas, and though there was still the faintest hint of tears to his tone, that would pass. He had Gimli, and Gimli had him, and no amount of days and nights would ever part them again.

Never, not once in all his years, had Legolas felt quite so young and light and so eager to see the next dawn.


End file.
